


the stars will laugh at us

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Reincarnation, just gonna, put this here, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:39:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3947497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of this was supposed to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stars will laugh at us

**Author's Note:**

> i've been told this one is pretty tragic.
> 
> please read on and enjoy!

i. The first time it happens, Jack does not believe it.

They began this strike as young boys. Boys trying simultaneously to be men and boys: if you are man, you are the enemy, if you are boy, you are too weak to fight it. Still, though, they’re trying, they are rallying, they are screaming, for their pay, for their rights, for their power, and god, if they could stomp any louder they _would_ , they-

Jack does not remember the pistol firing.

Jack does not remember the screams. He does not remember the boys in front of him scattering. He does not remember cloth bags dropping to the pavement, he does not hear the sound of metal ripping through linen, through skin, through grit and through bone.

He only remembers David falling. Mouth open from yelling not moments before, eyes slowly glassing over, he is falling forward, falling over and over. Jack does not move for a moment. Spends a single second standing before falling as well, holding his friend, no, his something’s, his _almost’s_ quaking shoulders, trying to ignore the rose blooming in his belly, trying to focus on the way David’s mouth stays open for a moment, quivering as he tries to speak, to breathe, to stay alive. He dies quietly, silently, eyes unfocusing, never hearing Jack bending over his brown curls and whispering,

_“It wasn’t supposed to end this way.”_

  


ii. There’s an uneasiness that Jack cannot explain when they close David’s suitcase, the clasps snapping shut crisply.

They’ve been figuring out how to pack for this trip for forever, holding up different shirts, different suits, different ties, different shoes. David has always had a better sense of clothing than Jack, so seventy percent of the time, he would choose the color, the fabric, the style. Then he’d kiss Jack on the cheek, placing the tie he’d just suggested inside.

David looks over to where Jack is sitting on the bed, fiddling with his hands in the silence, looking anywhere but his partner. He tilts his head, only confused for a moment before his expression softens and he walks over, kneeling down in front of him and lacing his fingers with Jack’s. “Jack…”

He looks up, sighing as he studies the brown eyes before him. There is always some spark in them, even when they’re full of tears, they’re full of hope. “Look, Jack,” David says quietly, not breaking the delicate eye contact between them. “The trip to New York City will only be for a month or so, okay? Just to make a deal with another tailor there. He’s successful- very, very successful. Maybe he’ll be able to get a ticket for you too, yeah?” David is grinning now, eyes shining as bright as ever. “Davey Jacobs and Jack Kelly, traveling America together! Imagine it!” Jack is smiling now, because David is so beautiful when he’s excited, so brilliant. He loves him.

Davey turns Jack to look out of the window through their small apartment, eyes blazing. “Imagine it… The largest ship in the world. The RMS Titanic. Her maiden voyage, and I’ll be on it! Isn’t that grand…” He kisses him on the cheek before getting up, whirling around the apartment and chattering, his hands flying in all directions as he lays his dreams out like stars.

Maybe they will be alright. 

  


iii. He does not understand how there can be this much sickness. He does not understand how there can be this much coughing, this much fever, this much death. 

They avoided it in the first few months. It was winter- the virus could not spread as far. Stories were simply stories. But when summer came, the flu was back, hitting the world like it had never hit before. David was writing within his study when he began coughing. Almost immediately, Jack had run into the room, kneeling by his side, searching David’s eyes and only finding worry. A hand at his forehead would only find fever.

Jack remembers the diagnosis, remembers the doctor looking at David gravely, remembers David crying on his shoulder, remembers their hands tangling. Remembers the flu getting worse, remembers more and more men and women arriving at the hospital, remembers the sight of David lying in bed, his face a deathly pale. Remembers himself praying, praying that this won’t end like last time, like these dreams he’s been having, like dreams that he swears are too vivid to be simply dreams.

Jack cannot watch David as he takes his final breaths. Cannot watch as he coughs, louder and louder, lungs heaving for release from this toxin. Cannot look back at the door as the doctor tells him that David Jacobs has passed away. “I know.”

Jack begins coughing two days later.

  


iv. The freeway is dark and slick at night, the mist of the rain falling on their shoulders.

Jack doesn’t know why he’s yelling, doesn’t understand why they’re even on the freeway, with cars and trucks roaring past them periodically, drowning out their shouting for brief moments. They’re both slightly drunk, and David is crying, saltwater tears slipping down his cheeks, visible in the orange lights mounted on the road signs.

“Just fucking tell me!” It is a rare thing to see David Jacobs scream, to swear, to morph into a whirlwind of frustration and despair. Jack promised himself that he’d never make David like this again, not in any of the limited minutes they had together. David wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve, sniffling. “You know you can tell me anything, I don’t understand why you won’t just-”

“I can’t! I can’t fucking do that!” Jack cannot tell him about the dreams, so bright and alive and terrifying that they must be memories, but shit, if these are memories then he has been fucked this entire time, and he doesn’t want to face that truth. “I can’t do that to you!”

“Why not?” David is angry, he is so angry, and across thousands of lifetimes Jack has never seen this face. “I want to know why you get out of bed in the middle of the night shivering, why you won’t look at my afterwards, why you’re so goddamn anxious about my well being, why you don’t think I can fend for myself-”

“I don’t think that!” Jack takes a few steps forward, but David stumbles backwards, unable to be close to him. “You don’t understand what I’ve seen. You don’t!”

“Then let me understand!” David now steps closer, gesturing though the rain, desperate. “Just allow me to understand! I want to help you!” He sounds so genuine, so hopeful.

But Jack remembers what hope has done to him. To David. He shakes his head slowly. “I can’t.”

David’s face slowly hardens, tears welling in his eyes once more. He turns around without a word, stalking away from Jack.

He does not realize that “forward” is the open road. David is illuminated by headlights for a single moment.

Jack has no time to scream. 

  


_v. David does not remember a time he was more terrified._

_The wind is whipping around this rooftop like a hurricane, isolated in this moment. The sky is cold and dark, the pinpricks of stars shining coldly down on them. He imagines them laughing, in happy hysterics over the plights of mortals. David gulps, his phone still shaking in his hand. He’s just called 911. He understands that they may not make it._

_The city’s skyline makes a cruelly beautiful silhouette out of Jack, bright yellows and blues against his body. He stands on the edge of the rooftop, his arms out for balance. There have to be at least ten stories below where they stand._

_“Jack, you don’t have to do this, okay?” David realizes his voice is shaking as much as his hands, cracking on three words. He feels like crying, like screaming, like falling, all at the same time. This is fear. “You don’t. Please, just come down.”_

_Jack gulps, his eyes glittering. There has always been a haunted look in his eyes, always a small glint of this, this sadness, this grief when he looks at him. David does not understand why. “But I do. I’ve finally figured it out.”_

_“Figured out what? What are you so afraid of? Is it of me? Us?” The last part is barely a whisper, but Jack is already shaking his head violently._

_“No! David, I love you, okay? I have loved you, all this time,” He wipes his eyes, his balance tipping dangerously. But he does not fall. “All of these years. I love you. I love you.”_

_David feels his careful calm wavering, and he gulps. He must be strong for the both of them. “Then please! Please, Jack! If you love me, just… Just come down. Don’t fall. Don’t do this.”_

_But Jack is whispering a constant stream of_ no’s, _his shoulders quivering against the backdrop of city stars. David feels his heart beating in his chest, the hurricane roaring in his ears. He prays. Jack looks up, his face an amalgomy of calm, of fear, of hope. He blinks slowly, taking in all of him, his eyes saddened, but determined._

_“I have to. Maybe, next time, it’ll be different.”_

_David feels a tug in his chest, and he steps forward, the storm rushing in his ears now, the stars are spinning around him, laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing at this poor human’s plight, and David wishes they would stop laughing, if but for a moment, so he could just reach him before- The city stars swallow the silhouette. His hands close around the bricks, gripping them as he screams, sirens wailing somewhere in the night._

  


* * *

  


vi. There are still dreams. 

Well, maybe not dreams, but memories. Of the strike, of the flu, of the ship, of planes, of mountainsides, of falling, of shootings. Of death. Of mistakes.

They live in the big city now. New York, New York. Skylines tower above water, climbing like stars. New York is loud. It has always been loud. They live in a small apartment now, remarkably close to where they lived when it all began.

They don’t talk about it much. But now, they both remember. Maybe it was the breaking of the cycle. They don’t know. But there are still nights where Jack will rocket out of bed, in a cold sweat and screaming. David’s hands still shiver when he’s on rooftops. Neither of them were left unscarred.

But when they become weak, when they become vulnerable, when the stars begin laughing and ghosts of storm clouds gather, they are there for each other. They are there to hold quaking wrists, to brush away tears from eyelashes. They will not make the same mistakes they made before.

_This time, it will be different._


End file.
